Don't Blame Captain Slow, He Had It Coming
by Rosssse
Summary: E/O Challenge: Steady. Happy Birthday Woodburner. Triple drabble. Sam and Dean are at Bobby's, passing the afternoon with their favourite game when... We love a bit of hurt/comfort x
1. Salvage Scaling

**Word Count: 300**

**Prompt Word: Steady**

**Extra: I know this is a bit long but I just had to get this idea down and it refused anything less than 300 words! Also, this is a belated birthday drabble for Woodburner. Not as much brotherly bonding or Sammy to the rescue as I would have liked, but I didn't want to go another one hundred words over!**

**AND this is set when Sam is 15ish and Dean is 19ish  
**

* * *

It's one thing to get hit by a car, but another to fly into a stationary one.

It had begun like always –

"Ready, steady... go!" Identical grins flickered and they were off, scaling the junk in the Singer Salvage Yard to reach some designated pile of scrap – the finishing line, the podium.

Just on rule: don't touch the ground.

Five minutes in and Sam groaned, sweeping the hair from his eyes to get a better look. Dean had made it – there he was, taking his last leap onto the top of a burnt-out vehicle. _The _burnt-out vehicle.

Roaring in euphoric delight, Dean called across to his little brother, caught in some tricky dead-end tower of trash. "Hey, Captain Slow!" He yelled, doing a crude victory dance (the _only _time dancing was ever acceptable), "When you finally get your sorry ass over here, you can kiss–"

Dean slipped; a sickening metallic thud, then another; the crisp smash of glass, a soft groan – wicked silence.

Sam jumped down, running over the dusty earth towards Dean shouting his name, the golden rule broken, forgotten.

A whispered, "over here," was all he needed to find him, spread-eagled on the hood of a car; a spider-web shatter on the windshield, spreading outwards from where Dean's head had connected.

"Help me up would ya, Sammy?" Dean murmured; wracked with tremors as he reached out to his little brother.

Sam was on him in a second, holding him down with a firm gentleness. "Dean, no... don't move." His eyes flashed to where the glass fragments shone like rubies. His stomach lurched. "I'm getting Bobby."

"No." Dean said; the words strangely pleading. "Call him. Left pocket."

"But it's only–"

"Stay here."

"I–"

"Please, Sammy."

Sam nodded. He understood.

Dean smiled; aching, grateful.

"'Still won though."


	2. Singerstyle Silences

**Word Count: 400 (ooops)**

**Prompt Word: Steady**

**Extra: Ugh bad Rose! 400 words? Alas - I tried, I failed for 300. Ah well, here we go. More icky but more cute hurt/comfort too. Thanks to Enkidu07 for giving me a nice little prompt/idea too :D x**

* * *

"Hold him steady, would ya?" Bobby ordered gruffly, the first words he had spoken for fifteen minutes.

Sam complied meekly, eyes cast down, tightening his grip on Dean's good arm whilst slipping one hand into his white knuckled fist – it was one thing to be told off Singer-style, but a whole other to sit through a Singer-style, condemned silence – an uncharacteristically and furiously mute Bobby was one to be feared.

Dean's hand relaxed a little and folded into Sam's, one hazy green eye blinking its thanks before he hissed and it scrunched closed again. Another shard of glass was removed from the back of his head and his jaw worked frantically against the pain, bite marks littering the pillow. Bruises had blossomed across the expanse of his back and one shoulder was swollen, blood and sweat matted in his hair and trickling down his brow.

Bobby spoke out again, voice filled with grim foreboding. "This last one is gunna hurt like a bitch, so brace yourselves."

Sam dared to watch as deft fingers slipped out the largest sliver yet. Dark blood oozed from a deep gash left behind.

Gripping his brother's hand harder Dean gave a strangled, helpless moan; crushing Sam's fingers in desperation, a tear squeezing itself out from between his eyelids.

Sam grimaced and grit his teeth as his brother ground his knuckles together.

"I just need to wash my hands, then I'm stitching all that up. Keep his shoulder iced and don't do anything stupid." Eyes narrowed. "Or should I say, _more _stupid. You two idjits..." he grumbled, shaking his head in disbelief. "Give him some of those pills too," he added before leaving.

"Sammy..." Dean groaned hoarsely.

"Here, take a couple of these," he soothed; dry, bloodstained lips parting. Gently Sam tilted his brother's head, whispering his apologies when he whimpered before feeding in the tablets. Dean took a few sips of water and gave Sam a weak, pained smile.

"They'll start working soon," Bobby said as he walked back in, drying his hands with a towel. Dean sighed at the idea of sweet darkness and Sam slowly lowered his head back onto the pillow; saying nothing, only readjusting his brother's icepack. He sat quietly as Dean's eyelids began to droop and Bobby began the lengthy process of cleaning, staunching and stitching the wounds.

Bobby paused and smiled Sam's way. "He'll be fine. Don't worry, okay?"


End file.
